Bucket List
by drapetomaniac
Summary: Simmons needed to relax. Grif decided it was time to help. "I never knew you could be this fucking hot, Simmons." "Fuck you," Simmons muttered. "Oh, I will," Grif grinned. Rated M for smut. Grimmons.


Pairing: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons  
Length: One-shot

Notes: My second piece of smut and my first time writing something so explicit. I accept, or rather _encourage_, suggestions and feedback on improvements. I am one of those people who absolutely _cannot_ read over their work if it's over damn 3,000 words. There may be stupid mistakes and typos and probably non-sense vocab. Basically, I suck.

Summary: Simmons needed to relax. Grif decided it was time to help. "I never knew you could be this fucking hot, Simmons." "Fuck you," Simmons muttered. "Oh, I will," Grif grinned.

* * *

"Goddamnit Grif," Simmons muttered as he pulled the trigger on yet another empty rifle. "Can't you do _something_ right for once?"

"Simmons, I don't have time to waste on reloading guns all day. I want to spend my young days enjoying every second by doing nothing." Grif was lying back on the grassy hill and stared at the sky. "I want to live life like there's no tomorrow."

"Yeah? Well, one day there won't _be_ a fucking tomorrow because your laziness will get us killed!" The maroon soldier exclaimed.

"You need to relax more, Simmons. Too much stress will cause you to age faster."

"It's you that makes me stressed!" Simmons rubbed his fingers on his temples. The tubby man was impossible to reason with. "Whatever. Come with me, there's a box of new, heavy equipment that needs to be tested." Simmons threw the weapon on the ground.

"Don't wanna."

"_Grif_," he warned through gritted teeth.

"_Fine_," Grif responded in the same way a whining child would to its parent. "I'm coming; don't get your panties in a wad."

"I don't wear- just shut up and follow me."

The duo entered their base without another word. After weaving through multiple corridors, they stopped over a certain spot where a handle stuck out from the ground. It hid a room full of their newly shipped equipment. They entered the room and climbed down the stairs. The trapdoor closed with a _thud_ behind them. All the light escaped the room with the top of the door and everything went black. Simmons felt around the wall for the light switch and flicked it on. Nothing happened. He flicked off, then back on again; still nothing.

"Crap. Grif, did you not repair the light bulb like you were told to?" Simmons glared through the darkness, "which was over a _month_ ago?"

"What do you think genius?" Grif replied in his usual tone.

Simmons groaned in frustration. Grif's laziness was doing his head in! Luckily, their helmets had built-in flashlights. "Just switch on your flashlight, jack-ass."

"Uh, yeah, about that," only Simmons' helmet lit up.

"Never mind, I don't want to hear it." Simmons was beyond frustrated with the man. How could such simple tasks not be accomplished, even attempted? He shook it off. He just wanted to grab the crate of weapons and get out of there. He'd test the weapons on his own. He didn't need a lazy, fat-ass slowing him down.

He carefully descended from the stairs, not offering any light to his teammate and searched for the right crate. The room was tidy, unlike a certain red member's room. Thanks to the recruitment of Donut, the room was kept well-organised and free of dust.

"Oof!" A soft _thud_ was head behind Simmons. "Thanks for the help, asshole."

"Same to you, dick." Grif grinned and didn't comment back. "Shut up, _Dexter_."

"I didn't say anything," he defended.

"You were practically screaming it in your thoughts."

Simmons finally found the wooden box he was searching for and told Grif to help him carry it to the bottom of the staircase. With a groan and a whinge, he complied and assisted his fellow soldier to carry the high mass crate. He also didn't forget to complain about how damn heavy it was.

"Stop complaining and just lift open the door," before Grif could squeak in a sound, Simmons cut him off, "_please_, Grif. It's getting hot and stuffy in here." Simmons offered light as he walked up the stairs and gave the trap door a push. It didn't budge. He gave it another push with more strength this time. No movement.

"What the fuck? It's jammed." He started punching at it and slamming his hands against it. "Open up! Open the fuck up!"

"No way. You've got to be kidding." Simmons said, underneath his breath. He walked up next to Grif and gave it a shove. "No fucking way." He started slamming up at it with Grif. The metal refused to move even the slightest bit. "Why? Open the fuck up!"

Grif, as expected, gave up and walked down the stairs. He leaned against the box that was now the primary source of this issue and sat down, exhausted.

"What are we going to do Grif? What if no one comes down here? What if no one realises we're gone?" Simmons began to panic. Grif already knew that Sarge wouldn't give a second thought if he knew the low-rank soldier was missing. However, there was still hope for Donut or Lopez stumbling down. He just didn't know when that'd happen.

"Relax, Simmons. Just-" Grif's attempt to calm the other was interrupted.

"Relax? _RELAX_? What the fuck is wrong with you? We're stuck in a fucking basement with a limited source of unhelpful equipment, no food or water, and I don't how long my fucking flashlight is going to last. Do not fucking tell me to relax, because in all honesty, if you hadn't relaxed so fucking much in your whole life, we wouldn't be fucking stuck down here!" Simmons exploded. He had stormed down the stairs and in front of Grif where he could glare at him eye-to-eye during his outburst.

Grif was lucky that he was a man who gave no fucks; otherwise, he'd be in a curled ball crying like a baby. _Like a certain suck-up with insecurities._

Instead of answering back, he replied back in a calm tone. He was not going to have the other living-being in this secluded room have a panic attack. "Simmons, calm the fuck down. Someone is going to come. Maybe not me, but someone is going to worry about _your sorry ass_ eventually. Save your energy."

Simmons was taken aback by the soft voice. If it weren't for his flashlight, he wouldn't have been convinced it was Grif at all. He decided to consider his words. "Alright," he sighed, sitting in front of Grif, slightly further away than he would rather.

It was barely minutes that passed when they realised the room was growing stuffy. They stripped off their armour down to their boxers and left them on the floor. Simmons held his helmet and used it as a light. He rummaged around the boxes and made a racket while doing so. Grif didn't bother asking.

According to Simmons' memory, there were electrical outlets in this room that were still working (surprisingly), so he decided to search for _something_ among them piles of junk that could serve of use to them. It took a while, but the result proved time and energy well-spent when he pulled out the device from the tangles in the box and brought it over to the wall by Grif.

"Look, instead of dying from the stuffy air, we'll die of something less humiliating like hunger or dehydration." Simmons plugged in the miniature fan to the wall and faced it towards them. He pressed a button which glowed dim green to signify it was on. The fan was no bigger than his armoured helmet and didn't automatically rotate back and forth due to old age and most probably the result of it being jammed and hidden away for who knows how long. The air that blew was cooling compared to the current room temperature and was relatively weak to what he had hoped, but it was better than nothing.

Grif groaned, "Am I really going to die like this? I didn't achieve anything on my bucket list."

Once again, Simmons rolled his eyes at the idiot's words. "Wow, I'm surprised. '_Do nothing'_ wasn't at the top of your list?"

Grif gave him a sarcastic laugh. "Ha-ha; very funny, Simmons. Hey, I have a suggestion. Why don't you add _'relax for fucking once'_ on yours? Or _'stop kissing Sarge's ass and sort out daddy issues_' because they seem like something you gotta achieve once in your lifetime before you rot here and die."

That hit Simmons hard. He half-heartedly bit back, "we're in a war, Grif. We don't have time to relax."

Grif snorted, "yeah, in a war with a bunch of blue fucking idiots who don't give a damn. With the way you're going, you're going to kill yourself before they can touch you." Simmons' helmet's light began to flicker. Grif saw the broken and torn face of his comrade before the light completely lit out. "Simmons, I'm sorry, that was too harsh. I didn't-"

"You're right. Ever since joining this war, I forgot all about relaxing and worked my ass off. I spent my days frustrated and angry, obeying all of Sarge's orders even if they were stupid and doing all the heavy-lifting because your dumb ass couldn't lift itself and now I'm going to die not remembering how it felt to be fucking relaxed. It doesn't matter whether I add it to my non-existing bucket-list or not because from what it seems, I'm going to die here anyway."

Before Grif could respond, he remembered a certain wish he had written when he first joined this damn army. It was more of a challenge rather than a wish, but it was better than nothing. Maybe he would be able to achieve one thing on that damn list before he died. Screw it. He's got nothing to lose now.

Simmons sighed at the lack of response and started to shuffle closer to the fan. Barely moving an inch forward, he felt rough hands shove his shoulders and his back slammed into the floor. Did he also mention that soft, plump lips were pressed against his?

"Ah!" Simmons gasped as the breath was knocked out of him. Grif parted away for a second to look at Simmons in the eyes. Slowly, their eyes began to adjust to the darkness surrounding them and they were able to make out each other's facial features. "Grif, what-"

"Shut up," he immediately silenced him with his own mouth. Simmons, without thinking, responded to the kiss. He had no idea what was happening but whatever Grif was doing, it was making Simmons' body respond it way he didn't think he was capable of. Simmons' anger and frustration melted away as he concentrated on remembering how to breathe. Grif's tongue welcomed itself into Simmons mouth and their heated kiss grew desperate, desperate for something. Was it their plead for rescue? No. It wasn't that. It was something else. Simmons felt Grif's hand run down his chest and had to remind himself that they were both just in their boxers.

Grif lightly dragged his fingertips down his bare chest and brushed over his nipples, earning a soft, content moan from the male. _Those damn fingers. _Grif left his lips and moved down to his neck leaving a trail of saliva, nibbling at a certain sensitive spot that caused Simmons to squirm underneath him.

Grif was sitting between Simmons legs, so Simmons was absolutely positive that Grif was aware of his growing cock in his boxers that throbbed with his every movement. Grif kneaded his thumbs above Simmons' pelvis as he sucked on his neck. He could feel the bulge against his stomach and grinned into his neck, pleased with his efforts.

Everything felt so hot. Simmons was _aching_ beneath his touch. He was so needy and just wanted him to _touch him already_. "_Grif_," Simmons managed to cry out through stifled breaths.

"Yes, Simmons?"

"Grif, you son of a bitch. Fucking _touch me_," he pleaded through gritted teeth.

Grif chuckled against his skin. "Don't worry. I'll make you feel real good," he assured him as his right hand travelled lower to that sensitive area that Simmons felt himself grow so damn tight in. He palmed his erection through his boxers and Simmons let out a cry. The slightest friction even through fabric felt _so damn good_.

Carefully, Grif tugged his boxers down and flung them in the direction of their pile of clothes and focused his attention on pleasing the man beneath him. Grif smirked as he thought of his next action. Simmons' cock stood tall before him and if it wasn't for Grif grasping around the base of his shaft first, Simmons would've shot out the second Grif's lips touched his tip.

"Ah, shit! Grif, fuck!" Simmons swore and groaned out his name. Grif hummed at the sound of his name which sent vibrations right to Simmons' dick. He took in his whole head and took as much of his length as he could, then brought himself back up. He repeated the action, fucking his cock with his mouth and earning all sort of erotic moans from the receiver. He burned all the delicious sounds in his memory.

Simmons fingers dug themselves in Grif's hair and rubbed his scalp. He couldn't even _think_ to ask how the hell he did that with his tongue. All he knew was that he was damn good at it. "Shit, Grif... I'm so close. Grif, you're so fucking good. Ah, shit…" Grif hummed again in agreement which sent shivers down his spine. With a soft _pop_, he removed his lips and began licking from top to bottom of his twitching shaft. After a few strokes, he finally decided to let the poor man go and released his grip on his base. Simmons felt all the built-up pressure and tension in his abdomen tighten and release. He shuddered and came all over himself, gaining some height. Simmons let out a long, sexy groan and fought to catch his breath.

While Simmons could barely think straight, Grif stood up and let his boxers hit the ground only to kick them off into the darkness. He looked down to see a worn out Simmons and watched his chest rise up and down in an inconsistent pattern. He leaned back over Simmons' sprawled out body and pressed his lips against his. "I never knew you could be this fucking hot, Simmons."

"Fuck you," Simmons muttered as he covered his eyes with his arm. Grif moved his arm out of the way so he could look at him in the eyes.

"Oh, I will," Grif grinned as he leaned down so his pulsating meat pressed against the pelvis of Simmons. He felt his hot juices stick onto his cock. "I'll fuck you so hard, Simmons. We are nowhere near finished." This earned a quiet mewl from the male. He honestly wasn't sure his body could handle anymore, but it sure didn't look like Grif was going to change his mind. Simmons knew what he wanted, and he couldn't help but feel excited for his first time.

Grif backed up and took a swab of his fresh cum with his index finger. _This will have to do_. He covered his finger with the sticky liquid and searched for Simmons eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"You're asking me that now?" Simmons growled.

"Good point. I could always go in dry and trust me, that'll hurt."

"I hate you so much."

Grif chuckled, "hate you, too." He rubbed his finger against Simmons' asshole and softly pushed in when he had relaxed his muscles. He watched Simmons face as he stifled out an uncomfortable noise. "It must feel weird but trust me; I'll make you feel so fucking good after." He rubbed his finger against his walls and smeared them with his own cum. When he thought it was enough, he pulled out and smeared the rest on his dick. He leaned forward to capture Simmons' lips once again, minding to rub his cock against Simmons half-erect one and earned a mumble of his name off his lips.

Simmons held tightly onto Grif's shoulder as Grif guided his penis to Simmons' hole. Slowly, he pushed the head in. He looked up at Simmons' expression and froze. He looked so damn sexy; he wanted to hammer him down into the ground. But for the sake of Simmons' pleasure, he pushed in steadily keeping his entire focus on Simmons. "It's nearly in babe. Hang in there," Grif, with all his willpower, held back from roughly shoving himself in. Simmons cried out and his grip on Grif's shoulders tightened. Grif stopped, completely filling Simmons up.

Grif's thick cock inside of Simmons made him feel stretched and full, and so damn fucking hot. "Goddamnit Grif," Simmons had to remind himself to breathe. He took a sharp breath in and out. "Ah... Fuck..." Grif couldn't help kissing his jaw at that which involved him moving slightly forward. "Aaah! Ah! Ah..." Simmons squeezed his eyes tight at the sudden movement.

"Oh, sorry," he muttered. He laid still for a few seconds, eyes fixated on every facial movement Simmons made. Simmons felt awkward with Grif staring at him so intensely and avoided eye-contact. "Really, Simmons? Really? My dick is shoved all the way up your asshole and you're still embarrassed to look at me directly in the eyes?"

"Shut up and move already!" Simmons grunted.

Grif was hesitant. "Are you sure? Alright," he slowly pulled out and pushed himself back in. Simmons' groaned and arched his back, which was a good sign. Simmons couldn't explain the feelings. It just filled him and felt so damn _right_. Grif continued to pull back and push in at a steady pace, watching Simmons the whole time. Although he hated it, all of Simmons expressions couldn't be hidden. He gasped every time Grif filled him and arched off the floor so his chest rubbed against Grif's. When he was sure the pleasure was overcoming the pain, Grif began to fasten himself. His hands were wrapped around his hips bringing them up to his crotch with every thrust.

Simmons' moans began to grow deeper and heavier as Grif pounded himself into his asshole. "Shit," his fingers dug into his back and he could barely see straight. Simmons wrapped his legs around Grif's waist and _holy fucking shit. _At this angle, Grif was _hitting that spot every-fucking-time._ The waves of pleasure were beginning to overwhelm Simmons. Grif's and his own pelvises and stomachs were rubbing his dick back to life and Simmons couldn't fucking _believe_ what he was feeling.

"Shit… Dexter Grif..." His name rolled out on his tongue so naturally. He couldn't contain any of the noises that sprawled out of his tongue.

"Fuck. Dick Simmons, say my name again," Grif growled into Simmons' neck and he continued to fasten his thrusts.

"A-ah!" Grif hit his prostate hard this time, "D-Dexter! Fuck! Ah... Dexter Grif..." Simmons managed to moan out his name which seemed to fuel Grif. _That fucking mouth of his; he loved how his name sounded from that sexy mouth of his_. Grif began to mercilessly nail Simmons into the ground. Simmons moaned out noises that he was sure Grif would bring up later, but he didn't fucking care. He didn't damn care if anyone heard above them; he just wanted Grif to keep slamming right on _that spot...!_

Grif could feel the pressure building up in his stomach. Simmons did as well. They were so damn _close_. With a hard thrust that hit right on target, Simmons clutched onto Grif for dear life and felt his thoughts go blank. His sight went white and he exploded all over Grif's and his own stomach. Grif followed not too far behind, encouraged by Simmons' finish. He shot his stream of hot semen inside of Simmons, completely filling him up with heat.

"Ngh..." Their tense muscles turned to jelly. Grif collapsed on top of Simmons with the biggest grin plastered on his face. "That… was fucking amazing, Simmons." He managed to bring up his hand so his fingers could draw circles on his chest and slowly draw lines towards his collarbone.

Simmons huffed, "so much for conserving energy."

They lay breathless for a few minutes, sinking in the amazing feeling after hot, stuffy sex. During that moment, Simmons finally remembered how great it felt to be _relaxed_. He was content and had the best time ever in a long time. He had no worries or pressures on his mind and for that moment, he could rest with a calm mind and do _nothing_.

Grif finally got hold of himself again and peeled himself off Simmons. Slowly, he pulled himself out of Simmons, who felt a little too empty after the removal.

"It's really stuffy in here," Grif whined again.

"Uh, yeah," Simmons sat up. His stomach and chest was covered in his sticky cum. "Grif, why did you-"

"Did you like it?" Grif asked, cutting him off as usual. Simmons nodded without saying anything. Grif managed to see the motion in the dark. "Good. How do you feel?"

He didn't know whether he was asking about his current mood or whether he felt something needed to be brought up about their current relationship. Either way, he didn't get to answer because the trapdoor began to creak, and then with a _wham_ it flung open.

Before the duo could even work up the energy to scramble for their clothes, a cheery voice called out, "oh, there you guys are! Sarge was wondering where you went! Damn," Donut stared down the hole, "it sure does seem like you two got quite occupied with each other _down there_."

"Donut..." Simmons muttered. They were both still under shadows as the light from above wasn't bright enough to lighten up the entire basement.

"Yeah, we did. Just hold up the door and we'll be up in a minute!" Grif walked over to his clothes and began dressing himself. "Damn, we gotta get cleaned up. C'mon," Grif gestured towards the pile of clothes and armour.

Within a few minutes, they hurriedly got dressed and carried their armour pieces back to their rooms.

"So Grif," Simmons started as they walked down the hallway, "what does that make us?"

Grif wasn't hesitant to respond, "whatever you want us to be, Simmons." Simmons hummed, not completely satisfied with his answer. "Don't worry, Simmons. We can go back to normal, with just a touch of _relaxation_." Grif smirked. They were at their doorways to their personal rooms and held their doors open. Grif let out a stress-free laugh, "and we thought we were going to die; sounds pathetic now, huh. Well, we all got what we wanted. Let's talk tomorrow, okay?"

"I got to relax," Simmons stated, before letting Grif escape, "which is crossed off my bucket list which may or may not exist by tonight. What did you cross off?"

Grif grinned and gave his partner an adoring look, "fuck Dick." He laughed as he walked into his room and shut the door behind himself.


End file.
